by JJ Knight
My breath hitches. I want to think our love will not be in question. That we’ll weather everything that is about to happen. But when I am admitting things to myself, I know this is going to be a hard road. It will be everything Blitz said. A social media storm. A barrage of criticism and scrutiny.
“I believe in us,” I tell him. “We’re going to do this.”
He holds me close. “We’re going to rock it.”
I have to believe him.
Chapter 15
Bennett isn’t on the plane that takes us to LA that afternoon. Blitz hasn’t talked to him about the show, but it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re committed to this course.
I get to meet his assistant Shelly the moment we land. She’s waiting on the tarmac with Duke and a different car, an enormous black SUV.
She’s very tiny, not even five feet tall, and extremely petite with bright pink hair cut short around her pixie-like face. She wears jeans and a black tank top that says “Bite me.” A dozen gold hoops line one of her earlobes.
She isn’t what I expected at all.
“I have three properties for you to visit for a rental,” she says, “but I don’t see any time in your schedule to go look. Rehearsals start at eight in the morning and you will literally have no time to do anything, as the first show will be shot in three weeks.”
Duke waves at us, making a “talkie talkie” motion with his hands as he follows Shelly with our bags. And it’s true. Shelly doesn’t so much as take a breath as we load into the SUV.
“We’re going to keep you as quiet as possible,” Shelly says as we sit down. She gets in the front next to Duke and twists around. “That’s why we got this car. Duke isn’t to take out your Jag unless it’s an official event. I’m taking your request seriously to blow off Hannah and avoid any unnecessary publicity.”
Blitz is about to say something, but she charges on.
“Since you didn’t want to go to your condo, I made reservations at the Ritz. They know you are coming and that your privacy is of utmost concern. They have you keyed in for the rear entrance and a secure floor. We couldn’t get any presidential suites because, well, this is Hollywood, but it’s a nice big room. I hope to get you in a rental by the weekend. Maybe I can pick one if you don’t get a chance to look.”
“Shelly! Stop!” Blitz says. “Hello! I want you to meet Livia.”
“Hello, Livia,” Shelly says. “I already know your dress size and shoe size. I have a ballet instructor lined up for you. We all assumed you would continue your studies. Let us know if that changes. The choreographer wants to meet with you first thing and the two of you will need to dance for everyone so we can fit your style into the show.”
Blitz shakes his head. “What Shelly is trying to say is ‘Hello, nice to meet you too.’”
Shelly waves off his comment. “She’ll get used to me.” She flips through screens on her phone and goes on.
“Hannah is not pleased to have me as a go-between, but I told her to suck it. Here was her response.” She holds up her phone, where a message has been zoomed in on. It reads “You. Are. Unprofessional.”
She turns the phone back to look at it herself. “I took that as a compliment, coming from her.” She sighs. “Any questions?”
Blitz and I look at each other and laugh. “I think you’ve covered it.”
“Oh, meals,” Shelly says. “Your chef got here yesterday and will prepare everything for both of you to eat while on the set each day. He said, and I quote, ‘Do not let him go to McDonald’s.’”
Blitz leans forward in his seat. “Duke, you know what that means.”
“I’m on it,” Duke says. He turns on his signal.
“Are you heading to McDonald’s?” Shelly asks, her voice exasperated.
“Of course he is,” Blitz says. “Livia, quarter pounder or double Mac?”
I giggle. “You know I won’t eat that stuff.”
“And you were so close to being the perfect girl,” he says, lifting my hand to kiss my fingers.
“Enjoy your last night of freedom,” Shelly says. “Because starting tomorrow, you are owned by Dance Blitz.”
“Just for five episodes,” Blitz says.
“It’s going to be different,” Shelly says. “It’s already different. Those finalists are feeling their power. They are calling more shots. And they don’t listen to me as well as they did Hannah. You might want to bring her back.”
Blitz shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I choose the winner in the end. It’s pointless for them to force my hand.”
Shelly and Duke exchange glances.
“What?” Blitz asks. “Surely nobody thinks I’m going to choose anyone but Livia.”
“I’m going to pull over for this one,” Duke says. He turns into the parking lot of a pharmacy and shifts the car into park.
My belly quivers a little. This must be big.
Shelly tugs on a piece of her pink hair, her lips twisted. “They changed the format of the show,” she says. “You weren’t here yesterday for the kickoff meeting, since you insisted on arriving today.”
“What is the new format?” Blitz asks.
Shelly reaches into an oversized bag and pulls out a sheaf of papers. “These are the roughs,” she says. “They outline the five episodes.”
The first page has five paragraphs labeled S3 E1 to E5. I guess it stands for season three, and episodes one through five.
I’ve only read a couple lines about the first episode being based on four dates, when Blitz flings it to the floor. “Nobody said ANYTHING about doing a live weekly!” he says.
“The live format for the finale was really popular,” she says. “And it’s the best way to get big numbers on the audience vote since they are short on publicity due to the quick timeline. They are trying to salvage the original release dates.”
“It’s a live show again?” I ask.
Blitz nods and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment, struggling to control his anger.
“We can do that,” I say. “We did it before.”
“That’s not the real rub,” Duke says. “You’re missing the point.”
I look from Blitz to Shelly to Duke. “What are you talking about?”
“The new format is so they can do live voting,” Shelly explains. “It’s not up to Blitz to choose this time. This winner will be determined by the TV audience.”
~*´`*~
I sink back against the seat. Blitz’s face is hard and angry. “Who authorized this without my input?” he demands.
“You’ll have to talk to the execs,” Shelly says. “I think under the new agreement, the one that you signed to avoid the lawsuit, the format is no longer under your control.”
“You told Larry to get you off the show after five,” I say. “This is probably what he had to do.”
Duke pulls out of the parking lot. “Still Micky D’s?” he asks.
“Forget it,” Blitz says. “I want to get to the hotel and make some calls.”
He’s as stormy as I’ve ever seen him. I’m anxious too. I know my dancing isn’t nearly at the level of the other girls. The audience will be unforgiving. I’ll be voted off the first show.
I reach down and pick up the sheaf of papers again, trying to puzzle out what will happen.
Episode 1 is called “Meet the Dates.” It doesn’t have any dance numbers. And it’s not live either. Blitz will go on four dates, one with each of the three finalists and one with me, and clips will be aired along with the host, who will talk to the audience about the girls. No one will be eliminated.
Episode 2 is the first live show. It’s called “Slow Dance.” There’s a dance number with each girl, and Blitz will do interviews about each of us as a partner, plus interview spotlights on each of us. Callers will vote during the show and up to two hours after.
Episode 3 is called “Classic Dance.” All four of us do a dance with Blitz, interspersed with interviews and rehearsal footage. The votes from Episode 2 will be revealed
and the girl who was eliminated does a “Final Dance” with Blitz.
Episode 4 is “Sexy Dance.” Same format. Another girl goes in the end.
In the last episode, the competition will be down to two girls, both showing the unique dance style they have developed with Blitz. Previous dancers from earlier in the series will do numbers with Blitz, reliving some of the moments that were iconic to the show. I scan and note that the sexy bed scene is only shown as a clip. That girl wasn’t invited back.
These dances are just for fun, because the audience has already decided on the winner based on the sexy dance episode. The winner is announced at the end.
At least there is no wedding proposal scripted in. They didn’t go that far.
I roll up the papers and tap my palm anxiously as the streets of LA roll by. It will be dark soon, and before I know it, we’ll be up and at the studio.
I guess some of us will be in rehearsals while others are out filming the dates. I don’t know how all that will work. I turn to look at Blitz. He’s staring out the window, still scowling. I understand how he feels. The show he built on his charisma and craziness is no longer his. And he wants this triumphant ending with the two of us, and it just got snatched away.
I reach across the seat and hold on to his wrist. “You okay, Blitz?”
Shelly glances back anxiously, then turns away.
Blitz blows out a long hard gush of air. “This business sucks,” he says. “Nobody’s in it for anything but ratings. Everybody has to cover their ass.”
“We’ll be fine,” I tell him. “It’s just television. Maybe I’ll get crazier than you and have an onscreen fling with Giselle myself.”
Duke has a coughing fit and Shelly hammers him on the back. Blitz just shakes his head.
“You’re really something,” he says, dragging me across the seat closer to him.
“I could kiss a girl. Maybe I’d like it,” I say.
Duke chokes out another cough.
“Your lips are mine,” Blitz says. “She doesn’t deserve them.” He leans in and kisses me, and I can feel his body relax.
“I really think you two are going to do fine,” Shelly says. “Everybody loves a true romance. And the other girls just didn’t cut it.”
I look up at Blitz. For his sake, and okay, maybe for mine too, I hope she’s right.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Duke picks us up in the black SUV. Shelly isn’t with him. I’m dressed in plain workout clothes, same as Blitz. I have no idea what to expect.
Duke passes Blitz an Egg McMuffin. “Since you skipped the Golden Arches last night.”
Blitz takes it with a grimace. I know how he feels. I don’t want to eat anything greasy or heavy, unsure of what I’ll be put through today, and for how long. At least Blitz knows all the people involved.
Duke is cheerful and feeling chatty. He asks, “So that Giselle chick is still around? What is going on with her? Can’t she take a hint?”
Blitz stares out his side window.
“Come on, as soon as I got that message from you that night, I figured she was toast!” Duke glances in the rearview mirror at us.
This gets Blitz’s attention. “You actually got that picture?”
“Sure,” he says. “I figured you sent it to everybody when it went viral. I sure as hell didn’t show it to anybody. You split town, so we never talked about it.”
“It got posted to Twitter.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Duke says. “It’s like it went two places at once. Doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Blitz says. “But I checked my phone that day. I’d sent it from my phone, straight to Twitter.”
“How much did you have to drink, compadre?” he asks. “Were you three sheets to the wind?”
“More than usual,” Blitz admits. “I was sick of that girl and booze got me through it.”
I stay quiet through this exchange. I rarely see Blitz drink more than a cocktail or a glass of wine at client meetings. We had a bar in our hotel room for months, and he almost never poured anything from it.
“Something is definitely fishy about that,” Duke says.
“Water under the bridge now,” Blitz says.
We pull up to the giant gates of the studio and are stopped by a guard. Duke flashes him a pass and we’re waved through.
My head feels light and jangly with nerves. I try to focus on my happy memories here. The prop room and the satin bed. The end of the live finale, when we escaped with Bennett and Juliet.
I wish I had brought my blue-sprayed toe shoes. I keep them in a special box, not to be worn since that epic night. They might have brought me luck today.
Duke pulls up to the double doors of the building. “Have fun, lovebirds. Blitz, don’t punch anybody. Livia, if you kiss any girls, send pictures.” He winks at me.
Duke jumps out to open my door. Blitz meets me on the other side.
Blitz waves Duke off, and we enter the familiar hall.
The activity is more than I expected. A man pushes a rack of costumes down the corridor. Two men with headsets chat as they hurry through a door. Three girls in leotards spot Blitz and wave wildly, eyes big.
Blitz takes my hand. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s see where we’re supposed to go.”
We head into the viewing room I first entered when I arrived months ago with Bennett. The place is crowded with people, some in suits, others in dance gear. I quickly spot the three finalists, Mariah, Christy, and Giselle. They are dressed the same as I am, and I let out a sigh that I got that much right.
“Look who decided to show up finally,” Giselle says. “I wondered if we were all going to be competing for a ghost.”
Blitz’s manager Hannah steps forward, as casual as I’ve ever seen her in jeans and a gray sweater. “I know you’re not speaking to me, but legal needs Livia to sign all the documents that allow her on the show.” She points to the same man I saw the night of the finale, when Bennett signed on my behalf. “Right over there.”
I nod and let go of Blitz. I’m not going to even worry about the papers. Whatever they say I have to do, I will do. None of this is about me. It’s about getting to the end of the show and returning to our lives.
I sit in the chair opposite the man. He extends a hand. “Nice to see you again, Livia,” he says. “I’m Liam Reynolds.”
“I remember,” I say. “Where do I need to sign?”
“You want to go over these?” he asks. “They contractually obligate you to do season three of Dance Blitz, five episodes or until you are eliminated from the competition.”
“I know,” I say. “And nothing that happens to me due to the show is part of your liability, et cetera, et cetera.”
He grins at that. “We should review your financial data, when and how you will be paid, residuals, and your points toward sales of subsequent media after the show is over.”
I didn’t realize I would be paid. But of course I would. I’m not married to Blitz. I’m my own person. And I’m working for a show.
“Okay,” I say.
Liam flips through to the last pages. “This is the amount you will make per episode. Here are subsidiary properties, such as media sales, promotional spots, and endorsements related to the franchise. Merchandising is separate, if your likeness is used on things such as lunch boxes or dolls.” His pen touches several charts.
I feel like I can’t be seeing this right. No wonder the finalists fought for this. I wouldn’t make this much money in years and years, no matter what I was qualified to do. I could pay for college.
I could buy my own car. My own house.
I’m too shocked to speak.
“I take it these numbers are adequate for you,” Liam says. “We should get you an agent. I think Bennett has had someone make sure you were part of the appropriate guilds and unions to work. I’ll double-check on that, as we can’t pay you until all that is square.”
“Thank you,” I say and pick up the pen.
“Don’t thank me,” Liam says. “You need someone in your corner looking out for your interests. This is a short-term contract with standard rates and no add-on clauses. Bennett saw to that. But whatever you do next will need an experienced hand.”
I scrawl my name and initial in all the spots he indicates.
“The things I’m doing next won’t require any expertise,” I say. “I’ll teach little ballerinas and keep Blitz out of trouble.”
“That’s a big job for sure,” Liam says. He shakes my hand again. “Now I believe that young woman over there needs you.”
I turn and see the choreographer who was none too pleased to see me at the live finale of the show. She’s willowy, like a dancer, her brown hair pulled up in a tight bun. Her eyebrows are dramatic arches, and one lifts higher than the other as she sees me approaching.
“I’m Amara,” she says. “And you’re still here. That’s something.”
“Hello,” I say uncertainly.
“Blitz is on the set with Mariah right now,” she says. “We’ll do a warm-up in another room, and then I’ll watch the two of you together. I hope you’ve been dancing since the December finale. We need you to be competition ready in three weeks.”
I’m not sure I could be competition ready in a year, but I follow her out of the viewing room and down the hall. We stop a few doors down, past the dressing room. Everything is unlocked today, and Amara leads us into a studio with a mirrored wall. Mats are stacked along the side.
Two other girls are here, chorus dancers, by the looks of them. Their eyes cut at me as we enter, then they return to their stretches.
“Follow my lead,” Amara says. She takes me through a thorough set of warm-ups, enough to make me feel a little fatigued by the time a half hour has passed. Partway through, the other girls leave.
“I won’t be doing this for you every day,” Amara says. “But I’m here now to ensure that you understand the rigor of what you are about to do and to be adequately prepared for each day’s dancing. While you and Blitz are filming your parts of the first show, we’ll also be rehearsing numbers for the live episodes.”